


Best Ex Ever

by 1sttimefeeling



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Drunk Charles, Erik has Issues, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-18
Updated: 2019-05-30
Packaged: 2019-10-30 21:35:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,167
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17836589
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1sttimefeeling/pseuds/1sttimefeeling
Summary: Charles wakes up drunk on the pavement of a gas station, phone dead. He finds a payphone but can only remember one number. Erik Lehnsherr's.The problem? They broke up two years ago.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is based off of the song "Best Ex Ever by Lewis Brice."

The first thing Charles Xavier tastes is sawdust. And then he realizes there’s actual dirt in his mouth. He’s face-down in some gravel somewhere, his head heavy and spinning. He forces himself to stand. He scrubs the dirt from his face, but it’s stuck to him with some sort of- Is that blood?

Charles wipes it on his jeans. Charles stands up a little too quickly and his stomach lurches and twists in protest. He staggers two feet to the right before he doubles over and vomits on the gravel near his feet.

He groans softly, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand and then on his pants. How the hell did he get here? The world feels foggy around him and in the early morning light he can barely make out a looming yellow Sunaco sign.

He touches a hand to his head and tries to scan the area for any sign of life, but a sharp pain makes him pull away from his head like it’s on fire.

“Fuck,” He mutters.

The sharp pain subsides to a dull throb. Where is my phone? He wonders. Hell, where is my car?

He staggers a few more feet forward and finds his phone gleaming uselessly in a puddle. He stabs at the home button. Nothing.

Swearing, Charles tucks it into his pocket and shuffles his way to the rusty telephone box at the edge of the gas station.

Charles presses the call bar, before remembering that he needs to put in change. He shoves his hand into his pocket, and fishes out his wallet. Two quarters slide easily into the slot and Charles hesitates, racking his brain for a string of 10-digit numbers.

Bloody hell, what is Raven’s number? He shuts his eyes, but his mind is blank.

“Come on,” He mumbles. “Anyone. I just need to call someone.”

A number suddenly flashes in his mind. (914) 829-1243. He dials and he waits. The line rings once. Twice.

“Hello?” A deep, rich voice cuts through the silence and startles Charles.

“Erik?” Charles asks incredulously. His voice sounds warbled and funny and kind of slurred, and something in the logical and not really functioning part of his brain registers that he really should not be calling his ex from two fucking years ago.

There’s a pause and a rustling sound from the other end of the line.

“Charles?” Erik asks. “Are you drunk?”

“Yes. No. That’s not important,” He says. “I...I lost my car. Do y’think y’could pick me up at the Sunaco gas station?” His brain pulsing as he tries to remember which one he’s at. “The… the one near the bar?”

“Jesus Christ,” Erik swears. “It’s four in the morning, Charles. Why are you at a gas station?”

Charles chooses to ignore him, his head beginning to spin again.

“Thank you, Erik,” He says, leaning against the phone box. “You--you are a life saver. And truly, if you ever need, y’know, ever need a favor, I’ve got you. Anything you want, I’ll help you out,”

An automated voice reminds him he has thirty seconds. “Yeah, well, fuck you, operator, I paid for-”

“Charles,” Erik says, sounding exhausted. “I’m on my way. Don’t move.”

Charles grins at the phone. “You got it, old friend.”

The line goes dead and he feels sick again, sinking to the ground and leaning his head against the telephone box.

Someone is shaking him awake, and when he looks up, Erik Lehnsherr is looming over him, his reddish brown hair flat on the top of his head, and a little bit of ginger scruff on his chiseled, matured face.

“You look greaaaat,” Charles slurrs. “Haven’t seen you in so long, Erik.”

Erik sighs and bends over to grab Charles’ arm and haul him to his feet. Charles clings onto Erik and lets him steady him, feeling his head swim uneasily with the movement.

“Well clearly, you’ve missed me,” Erik says dryly.

“You have noooo idea,” Charles says. Erik leans in closer, and Charles can smell the scent of his musky cologne. It bathes him in nostalgia. He always loved that smell.

He cups Erik’s chin with one hand, and presses his lips to Erik’s.

Erik flinches and reels backwards.

“What the fuck, Charles?”

“Thought you were tryna kiss me,” Charles mumbles.

“No. I was trying to look at that nasty gash on your forehead.”

Charles pouts. “You mean, you don’t wanna kiss me?”

“No, that’s-- no, Charles. We broke up two years ago.” Erik pulls Charles’ arm. He sounds calm about it, over it, somehow, and it sends sharp pain shooting straight to Charles’ heart. “Now come on, let’s get you in the car.”

He tugs Charles to the car sitting and waiting in one of the gas spots, and settles him into the driver’s seat to buckle his seat belt. Charles leans his head back against the cool leather of the seats. His vision is blurry around the edges, and slow creeping throb starts in his temples, centering around the gash that Erik had been examining. Erik gets back into the car, in the driver’s seat, and Charles waits until he is settled before he starts talking. He hears the engine start, and feels the car lurch forward and drive off.

“S’nice of you to pick me up in the middle of the night, you know. Ever since you moved, it hasn't been the same.” If his brain was really, actually functioning, he would've asked how the hell Erik got here from Philadelphia. “You really didn’t have to do this. N’I know we’ll probably never get back together, but I want you to know you’re the best ex ever. Best boyfriend’ve had too. Even if we. Even if it was fucked up in the end,” He says. “I never was able to-”

“Shut up, Charles,” Erik says. He switches on the radio, and Charles is way too tired to find the energy to talk over it.

Charles sighs heavily, and lets his eyes fall shut. He stirs when he feels cool cloth being pressed to his forehead but he doesn’t open his eyes. And soon, warm hands are laying him on his side and tucking him into bed.

 

* * *

 

Never again. There’s an absolutely evil taste in Charles' mouth, and his body feels like he ran a marathon-- never mind that, a triatholon, during the night.

He rolls over and groans, sprawling out on his soft, white cotton sheets. Despite everything else, the bed feels nice and comforting on his skin, and he's glad to be rid of whatever garments he was wearing last night. Charles doesn’t open his eyes quite yet. He knows he’s left the shades open, and sunshine will only make his head ache in unbearable agony.

He lets the satisfaction of lying in bed linger for a bit longer, curling his toes, and breathing deeply.

When Charles finally forces his eyes open, he notices the shades are drawn and sees that his fingertips are crusted with blood. He can’t remember anything from last night, but now that his eyes are open, he realizes he’s not in his room. In fact, these are not his sheets at all.

He screws his eyes shut and tries to remember. He got kicked out a bar for… something, and then he woke up at a gas station where he called- “Oh, fuck,” He moans aloud.

Of course, he would call Erik Lehnsherr, the one ex he had (mostly) gotten over, but definitely not forgotten.

He touches his head and tries to find Erik’s presence in the apartment. It’s calming, like always, a cool presence that hums silently like magnetic forces. He feels some conflicting emotion emanating off him, but forces himself not to dive any deeper because they’re not dating anymore and- Fuck, it hurts. Charles drops his hand as the searing pain of a headache comes back.

He’s clumsy this morning, can’t slide in and out of Erik’s head without him knowing he was there.

Charles? Erik asks in his head.

It’s not too loud or demanding, the words fluttering in his brain and settling like a harmless butterfly.

There’s something casually intimate about having Erik project to his mind. He had taught Erik to perfect projection and to understand it, but it had all gone to hell the moment that he had caught a memory a little too close to home, one that Erik wasn’t ready to share.

I’m awake. Unfortunately. Charles thinks.

He groans a little and notices the pillow has dried blood on it. He's going to have to clean that up.

Erik comes into his room with a glass of water, an aspirin, and a warm towel. Charles takes the aspirin without thinking, chasing it down with cool, water that’s a relief from the revolting taste in his mouth and his parched throat.

“Thank you,” Charles says, voice hoarse.

His head is still pounding, but if he it’s not so bad if he closes his eyes. He wants to get up and go home, but he doesn’t have a car and he probably couldn’t get up if he tried.

Erik nods.

Charles feels a cool hand being pressed to his forehead and then pushing his hair back. Erik presses a warm towel to his temples wiping the bloody and dirty crust away. It feels heavenly and soothing, the ache of his hangover subsiding with the tenderness of Erik's hands.

“Sorry for bleeding on your pillow,” Charles says. “And making you drive out in the middle of the night. And for taking your bed, which I’ll probably be in until 2 o’clock.” He opens his eyes again.

Erik raises an eyebrow. “It's already 2 o'clock, Charles.”

“Fuck,” He mutters. He has time to look at Erik now, and he's forgotten how attractive he really is. The scruff on Erik's chin makes him look older, but two years have done him nothing but good.

“What happened last night?” Erik asks. “Why were you passed out at a gas station?”

“I was hoping you could tell me.”

Erik snorts and shakes his head. “I've no idea, but you were drunk out of your mind. You must've gotten kicked out of the bar.” He rubs the back of his neck. “And you... tried to kiss me last night.”

Charles feels his cheeks flush a deep pink. Of course he would. It’s been forever since he’s last seen Erik, and when he looks, and smells, like he does now, he couldn’t imagine how he would resist.

“Did we…?” He gestures to his naked body underneath the covers.

“I wouldn’t take advantage of you when you were that fucked up,” Erik responds. There’s a bitter edge to his voice, and Charles shivers.

“Why didn’t you tell me you moved back?” He asks in a small voice.

“Charles, in case you forgot, you broke up with me. I wasn’t going to just call you up when I moved back and say, ‘Hey Charles, I’m back, let’s give things another go.’ Especially when I-” He breaks off and breathes in through his nose.

“You know why I did it,” Charles says. His heart feels heavy with the memory. He remembers the blankness of Erik's face, his emotions held tightly behidn a stone wall.

“Then you know why I moved.”

There’s a heat in his voice that Charles wants to pull on and unravel, to pick him apart and understand exactly why Eric moved back here, if he wanted to escape this so bad. But it’s in the past, and he doesn’t want to bring up an old argument, just when things are going so well between them.

“I didn’t mean to accuse you of taking advantage.. After everything you did last night,” Charles says quietly.

“It’s fine,” Erik says. “You would have done the same for me."

“You wouldn’t have been in this situation in the first place.” Erik smiles a little at that. “True.” He pushes himself to his feet and stands up. “You need a shower. There’s a towel in the closet in the bathroom. Go wash up, I’m going to go for a run.”

Charles nods, and forces his sore body out of bed. He’s able to steady himself on the nightstand table as the world spins around him. He limps his way into the bathroom, and finds a towel in the closet. This new apartment is spacious, minimalistic and organized like Erik always had been.

He turns the hot water on and adjusts it to a temperature just below scalding. When he steps in, he sighs, letting the water seep into his body and scrubbing the grimy feeling from his skin.

He reaches for the shampoo from the shelf, and is hit with a wave of nostalgia. Erik’s shampoo smells like pine needles and silver, and it does something to him, heats his body up in ways he hasn’t felt in a long time.

_Warm, strong hands are carding through his hair, working shampoo into foamy bubbles. Erik massages his scalp with such expertise it makes his toes curl, and he leans against Erik under the spray of the shower, rinsing the suds from his hair._

_He can feel Erik hard against his ass, and he turns around to capture his lips in a kiss. Erik’s lips are wet and taste like coffee and shower water, and Charles cups the back of his head, licking his way into his mouth, feeling himself grow hard against their warm, slick bodies and then Erik takes them in his hands and strokes and fuck-_

Charles opens his eyes and realizes with a hot flash of shame that he’s fisting himself in his ex-boyfriend’s shower. He takes a deep breath, turns the water to freezing cold and towels himself off.

He realizes he doesn’t have any clothes, so he wraps the towel around his waist, and leaves the bathroom, boxers in hand.

He doesn’t see Erik as he’s exiting the bathroom, and they collide. Erik’s eyes go wide as they slowly slide up and down Charles’ figure, shirtless with a towel slung loosely around his hips.

He’s seen that look before, it’s the look Erik has given him a thousand times before he pushes him against a wall or into bed or some other flat surface and fucks him senseless.

Charles turns pink under the heat of his gaze and he tries not to stare as a bead of sweat drips down Erik’s neck. He swallows heavily and licks his lips in anticipation.

Erik clears his throat and says, “Excuse me,” and walks past him in the other direction.

Charles doesn’t know what he’s expecting, but it certainly wasn’t that.

“Erik,” Charles calls, and his voice sounds strangled even to his ears.

Erik turns around at stares at him, his eyes dark. “What is it?” Erik asks.

He’s staring at Charles straight in the face, daring him to say something.

“I-” Charles starts. “I need clothes.”

“Right,” Erik says. He shakes his head a little. “They’re in the dryer. I’ll get them.” Then, he ducks into the room across the hall and disappears.

Charles lets out a breath and continues the rest of the way to Erik’s room. He’s embarrassingly half-hard underneath the towel, and he really, really hopes it’s not noticeable. He wants to break this tension between them, establish some sort of explanation for why he still wants him.

Erik returns and wordlessly hands him his clothes. He turns and starts towards the door, but Charles grabs his wrist.

“Erik, thank you,” He says. “Really, you didn’t have to do all this, it’s very kind, and I’m sorry for making such a huge mess of things, your number was the only one I could remember last night, and-”

“Shut up, Charles,” Erik just says. His voice sounds a bit rough, his eyes dark and amused. 

Charles shuts his mouth.

Erik is standing so close he can feel his breath on his lips. Charles’s heart is beating wildly at the tension in the room. He smiles. “Make me.”

Erik is on him immediately, lips colliding together in an instant. He’s kissing Charles like he’s drowning, and it’s not the best kiss they’ve ever shared, but it’s definitely the most desperate.

Charles’ towel lies forgotten on the floor and he’s tugging at Erik’s track pants, yanking off his sweaty t-shirt, and he’s already showered but he can’t be bothered to care as Erik leads him to his room and presses his body against Charles’ in the big soft bed of his.

Charles wonders how he possibly survived two years without this, without Erik in his sheets, looking at him like that: predatory, his blue eyes dark with lust.

Charles shivers as Erik presses wet kisses to his neck and his jaw, teasing him with a scrape of teeth and soft sucking.

“Erik,” He whines, and Erik’s lips find his again. His hands reach between them, and he gathers them both in hand. They’re already slick with precum and Charles is absolutely aching as Erik wraps his hand around them.

They groan in unison as he begins to stroke, lost in the sensation of the friction of Erik’s hand and each other, lips and tongues tangled in one another.

It doesn’t take much for Charles to be pushed close to the edge and he moans, “Fuck, I’m about to-” and Erik stifles him with a kiss and he feels himself fall over the edge, gasping Erik’s name and seeing white.

He barely registers that Erik is cumming too, and he’s left in a state of sated bliss, chest heaving, and eyes shut, exhaustion thrumming through his veins. He presses a soft kiss to Erik’s lips and smiles.

Erik’s eyes are still shut as his breathing slows to normal. When he finally opens them, his expression is unreadable. He says nothing and gets out of bed, picking up Charles’ towel from the floor to wipe them up.

He doesn’t smile, and Charles feels an icy feeling crawl into his chest.

“I think you should go,” Erik says. “I have work to do, and you need to find your car. Your phone is on the table in the dining room. You know my number if you need anything.”

Charles’ heart feels heavy in his chest. He doesn’t understand this. Doesn’t understand how Erik can just throw him out like this after they had just kissed, damn it, after they had just brought back that old feeling that he has spent two years trying to chase in other people.

“Erik…” Charles starts, reaching out a hand to him.

Erik rears on him, eyes cold. “What do you want from me, Charles? I made a mistake. Please just go.”

Charles can't stop him as he turns and leaves the room, leaving him naked in his sheets with a heartache that was definitely not part of his hangover.


	2. Chapter 2

“My life is over,” Charles announces, dropping his tired body on the couch. He’s wearing last night’s clothes that have the faint scent of Erik’s detergent on them, and if he breathes in deep enough he can probably smell the musky scent of their sweat and-- fuck, there’s that ache again. “I lost my car, my phone’s fucked from water damage, and I called Erik to pick me up when I woke up at a _gas station_ at four in the morning.” He laid back and put his arm over his eyes.

“Erik’s back?” Raven asks, popping her head out from the kitchen. “And he didn't tell you?”

Charles sighs. “No, he didn't tell me.” He stares up at the ceiling, his mind spinning in circles as he revisits this morning’s events. He groans. “Oh God, why do I get myself in these messes?”

“Because you’re an idiot.” Raven retorts. She pads into the room Charles is in, stopping in front of him to put her hands on her hips. “Now that he's back are you going to call him?”

“Absolutely not. This morning there was… an incident. He kicked me out of his apartment afterwards, so we are definitely never getting back together.” He rolls over on the couch and puts his head in his hands.“Do you know how long it took me to recover from that heartbreak? And now I remember exactly what it feels like to have his hands all over me again,” Charles says.

Raven makes a face. “Gross.” She flops down on the couch next to him. “You lost your car and this is what you're freaking out over?”

“Cars can be replaced, Raven. Erik Lehnsherr, definitely not. Believe me. I've tried.”

Raven lets out a heavy sigh. “Charles, you remember why it didn’t work. The way he hurt you is not something you to repeat.”

“Maybe he’s changed,” Charles says, remembering the warmth he had heard in Erik’s voice when he had spoken inside his head. It had felt soothing, like ocean waves crashing on the beach. The barbed wire and prickling pain was no longer there.

“People like that don’t change. He will always be a hypocrite.” Raven crosses her arms and scowls. “But first thing’s first, please go find your car. I don't want to be your chauffeur.”

He doesn’t really blame Raven’s cynicism. She was the one who consoled him constantly, through the way his veins bristled with half-pain, half-fury when Erik had shut him out again and again and again. She was the one who picked him off the ground when it was all over and he had learned Erik moved to Philadelphia, never to be heard from or seen again.

Of course, until he fucked everything up by getting completely and utterly smashed and forgetting every single phone number he had ever learned. Hell, 911 would have probably been a better number to call than Erik Lehnsherr’s.

“Can I borrow your phone?” Charles asks.

Raven gives him a look. “Only if you take yours to be fixed.”

Charles huffs. “Fine, I will. Just give it. I need to call Moira.”

 

* * *

 

“Hello? Who is this?” Moira asks. Her voice sounds tinny and far away on Raven’s Samsung.

“It’s Charles.”

“Oh thank goodness, you're okay,” Moira says.

“What the fuck happened last night?”

There is silence on the other end of the phone.

“Moira?”

She sighs heavily. “It’s better if I tell you in person. Where are you?”

“I’m at home,” Charles says.

“Okay, I’m on my way.”

Charles clicks off his phone and shuts his eyes tightly. His mind is pounding as he tries to think of what happened last night. He remembers sitting in the dimly lit bar, laughing and knocking back shots of Moira’s favorite tequila. He remembers eyeing a man at the bar, but his face doesn’t surface in his memory. Everything about last night, seems to him, like an unclear dream.

Charles must have drifted off to sleep, because when he opens his eyes, Moira is standing over him, looking unimpressed.

“You look like shit,” she says.

“Good afternoon to you too,” Charles grumbles.

Moira laughs and flops down beside him on the couch. “Come on, you lazy bum, we have to go get your car.”

Charles sits up immediately.  “My car is still at the bar?”

“Yes,” Moira says. “I took your keys. It was probably the only decent thing I did that night.” She rubs her temples. “I’ll tell you what happened on the way.”  

Moira has heavy, dark bags under her eyes and her posture sags on the couch. Charles wasn’t the only one who was smashed last night, but he can’t exactly remember what happened to Moira after they drank that seventh tequila shot. Moira’s mind is buzzing with nervous energy and an unraveling guilt that is looping her thoughts over and over.

Charles heaves himself from the couch, his muscles aching in protest. His head is still a bit woozy when he stands, but it is a huge improvement from the headache that pierced his skull that afternoon.  Charles offers her a hand. Moira chuckles and takes it. Her palms are simultaneously cold and sweaty.

He follows her out the door as Raven calls out, “Don’t forget to get your phone fixed!”

They take the elevator down and head into the parking lot. The sun is just beginning to give its first hints of setting and few cars are pulling into their spaces. They reach Moira’s Prius gleaming silver in the middle of the parking lot. Moira pulls open the drivers’ door and Charles does the same on the passenger side. They settle in and buckle their seatbelts.

“So are you going to tell me what happened?” Charles asks. The background anxiety Charles can feel swimming in her head spikes with a sharp crescendo. Moira starts the car and pulls out of the parking lot, turning sharply into the street. Charles waits for her to say something, but she keeps driving in silence. When they reach a red light, Charles loses his patience. “Moira, I can feel your anxiety. What happened?” He asks.

Moira sighs. “I abandoned you last night, Charles,” she says. She grips her steering wheel a little tighter, her knuckles turning white.

“You wouldn’t be the first,” Charles mutters. It’s supposed to be a joke, but Charles feels a sharp painful prick of Moira’s self-loathing. “Sorry, bad joke,” he says.

“We were supposed to go home together, but we drank way too much, and someone offered me a ride home.” She paused and pursed her lips. “Just me. I asked him if you could come along, but he wanted me to come home with him.” The light turns green again and Moira presses on the accelerator, jerking Charles in his chair.

“So you went home with him?” Charles asks. He isn’t really surprised. When Moira was drunk, her mind moved slower than her feet. When men were involved, it was even worse.

“Yes, but I was able to convince him to drop you off before we went back to his place,” Moira says.

“Then how did I end up at a gas station?” Charles asks.

Moira keeps her gaze steady on the road ahead. “You said you were going to puke and told Ken to pull over. He pulled over to drop you off and sped away.”

Charles furrows his brow. “You let him drive away?”

Moira groans. “I know, Charles, I feel awful, I yelled at him to turn back, but he convinced me you’d be fine because there was a payphone.”

Charles squeezes his hands into small fists. If it wasn’t for her, he wouldn’t have fucked up so royally. But he also wouldn’t have found out Erik moved back.“So you left me at a gas station because there was a _payphone?_ ” He asks. He can feel her flash of guilt again. “Moira, do you have _any_ idea how I got home?”

“No,” she squeaks. Her voice sounds small and far away. “How did you get home?”

“...I called Erik,” Charles says.

Moira whips her head around to stare at him. Her eyes are focused intensely on his face, driving blindly down the freeway. “Erik Lehnsherr? You didn’t,” she says.

Her Prius swerves out of their lane and nearly into a black sedan. Charles waves his arms and frantically points to the road. The driver leans on the horn, and jolting Moira’s eyes from Charles.

“Pay attention to the road!” Charles yells. He takes a moment to catch his breath. The angry driver’s thoughts are hammering in his head. He shuts his eyes and rubs his temples. He would hate for this to be his last conversation, if they’re going to die right here, right now.

“Sorry, but you said Erik, right?” Moira asks. “He moved, Charles. Are you okay?”

Charles lets out a slow, deep breath of air. “Yes, Moira. I’m fine. He moved back here a few months ago.”

“So what happened?” Moira asks.

It falls out of Charles’ mouth too easily.

“Well, I couldn’t remember anyone’s phone number except Erik’s. So I called him. He picked me up, I tried to kiss him and he tucked me into bed. I fell asleep and then woke up this morning and showered, we hooked up, and then he kicked me out.”

“Sorry, can we go back to the part where you two hooked up?” Moira asks, eyes wide.

Charles coughs. “I’d rather not.”

 Moira takes one hand off the wheel to squeeze Charles’ arm. “Charles, tell me. How did that happen?”

“Believe me when I say you don't want to know,” Charles says.

“Okay so after… whatever. He kicked you out?”

“Yeah, he said something about making a mistake and told me to leave.” Charles tries to say it breezily, with not a care in the world, but his voice cracks.

“I mean, it was a pretty messy breakup,” Moira says.

Charles rolls his eyes. “Thanks, love, you always know how to make me feel better.”

“Have you talked to him since?” She asks.

“No. My phone is fucked. I dropped it off at the shop earlier.”

“You're a mess.”

“Please tell me something I don't know.”

“You're still in love with him, aren't you?”

Charles nearly chokes on air. “I… no. We went over this.” When he looks over at Moira, she’s smirking. Charles glares at her. “We are not doing this, Moira!”

“Doing what?” Moira asks, her voice light and teasing.

“We are not doing that thing where we pretend I’m some bloody school girl with a first-grade crush. This is Erik and this is me, and he clearly doesn’t want me anymore. We tried that.” Charles breathes deeply, squeezing his hands into fists. “And it didn’t work out. It’s over.”

 

* * *

 

Moira drops him off at the bar where he finds his car parked, safe and sound. Charles is relieved to find that everything is intact, exactly the way he had left it yesterday evening. He stands outside of his car and waves to Moira.

“You sure you’re going to be okay?” she asks, with a frown.

“Yes, Moira. I’m going to get my phone fixed and go home. There’s no need to patronize me,” Charles says.

Moira sighs. “Alright then, I’ll see you at work on Monday?”

“See you Monday,” Charles says.

He watches her car pull away before he gets back in his car and drives to the phone repair shop.

iFixiPhone is not located in the nicest of locations, but Charles never expected he’d have to go to a shop like this. Not even after a particularly reckless night of drinking. It’s all that guy’s fault, really. He blames Ken for everything. He enters the shop and the doorbell jingles. There are two plastic chairs in the corner, across from a crooked TV set.

A woman with long blonde hair greets him, indicating she is the shop owner, and asking what the issues are with his phone. Her smile is just a little too friendly, but Charles ignores it in favor of explaining his phone problems.

She tells him to take a seat in one of the chairs and Charles spends the next half hour of his life watching fake doctors tell him how to eat heathier and lose weight with fake vitamin supplements.

Just as a handsome Dr. Leo is telling him about the superfoods he can eat to keep his skin looking young, the shop owner appears in the doorway. He stands up and makes his way over to the counter.

“Here you are, darling,” The shop owner says, letting her hand linger a little too long as she hands him his phone. “You’ll notice a few updates along with the fix.” She smiles, tucking a long blonde strand behind her ear. “I’ve improved the software and security and added my number.” Her smile turns coy. “You know, in case you ever need something else.”

She was pretty enough, with striking blue eyes and soft dimples that deepened when she smiled. And maybe, maybe if Charles wasn’t so torn up inside thinking about the way Erik had looked when he had pressed Charles against the sheets, eyes dark, with a predatory grin that had made him absolutely melt, he would have taken this girl up on whatever she was offering.

“Thank you,” he says, keeping his tone neutral and distant and polite. She seems to get the idea because her bright smile dwindles.

“Have a nice evening.”

He sighs heavily and finds his car again. His phone’s as good as new, $200 dollars poorer, of course, and he stares at Erik’s contact, daring himself to make a move.

Should he?

Yes. He should thank him, of course. That was the polite, friendly thing to do. But then again, was there really such room for niceties when it came to exes?

His mind flashes back to the past without warning.

 

_Erik is standing with his back to him in kitchen. There's pain and torture and regret emanating from him like barbed wire dragging across charles’ skin._

 

_Charles is tentative as he calls out to Erik, projecting his voice in his mind like the cool, calming waves of a shore. But there's a sudden gust of wind, and Charles’ voice is drowned out by it, and he's sucked into the memory that is playing out so vividly in Erik’s mind. The calm waves turn to a violent sea storm and they're crashing over the side of the boat, dragging people under with it all, and Erik is torn from his parents from a huge wave that leaves him gasping for air. The waves are ruthlessly knocking him down and out on the deck, and boat tips and starts to splinter._

_And then someone picks Erik up and sets him on a lifeboat with three other woman and a child, and they're shipping them off into the ocean. Erik thinks he can hear his parents crying for help, sees visions of his parents getting lost in the swirling tempestuous waves, thinking about how they had never learned to swim. And Erik's on a boat and there's air and safety, but suddenly it's like he can't breathe anymore._

_Charles is gasping for air when he blinks again, heart in his throat, and tears prickling at his eyes._

_“Erik, you were just a child. You couldn't have saved them,” He says softly._

_Erik turns around and glares at him with such fury and ferocity, it could have knocked him over._

_“Stay out of my fucking head, Charles.” And he stalks out of the room and slams the door shut._

_Charles hadn't meant to stumble on such a private memory, but he couldn't help it, the surge of emotion was so strong it sucked him in. If anything it’s Erik’s fault for thinking so loudly when he was trying to comfort him, but he knows he should apologize anyway._

 

Oh, it had only gone so wrong from there. He had pulled out of Erik’s head completely, and their communication had dwindled and stopped. Every time he tried to skim Erik’s head he was met with the feeling of barbed wire. Erik expected him to know the things he didn't want to say aloud while still staying out his head. And Charles had tiptoed around Erik’s feelings and moods for months until he absolutely could not take it any longer and left.

It really should have been the end of all those feelings, but he found himself missing Erik’s mind when he had it, the organization of it, like thoughts filed neatly into metal cabinets that hummed with electricity and energy. But it was gone now, wasn't it?

He hadn't felt barbed wire when he had skimmed Erik’s head so clumsily. He hadn't been shut out or admonished, even when Erik had kicked him out so harshly.

So he breathes in deeply, dares himself to hope, and sends a quick message.

“Thanks again for last night and this morning. I hope I can make it up for the inconvenience over a drink. Xx”

After a pause, he erases the ‘Xx’ and hits send. Then, he puts his key into the ignition and lets the engine turn over and start until he makes the short drive home.

He’s disappointed when he gets home and sees the terse reply.

**That won't be necessary.**

He doesn't think before he types,

  _I think we should talk about what happened this morning._

Erik replies immediately.

  **I don't see what we need to talk about.**

He takes a deep breath and types,

  _I think I'm still in love with you._

There's no response.

Charles feels stupid. He feels even stupider when he tries to order Chinese takeaway and mixes up what Raven’s order with Erik’s usual. And then precedes to feel even more stupid when he remembers the way they would sit together cross legged on the couch watching awful Fast and Furious movies with the sound turned off, ad-libbing the characters and laughing hysterically.  He remembers the ease of being in Erik’s mind, hearing his thoughts as Erik had stared at him in wonder ( _What did I do to deserve this?)_ and basking in the warmth of the affection that Erik emanated.

He hates this, hates how two years have passed and all it took was a few fleeting moments of weakness with Erik’s wonderful, gorgeous hands and God, it had been _electric_.

“Charles, are you going to eat the rest of your food?” Raven asks, nudging him with a toe.

“Huh?” He looks down at the completely full Tupperware of Lo Mein and pushes it over to her. “No, you can have it.”

“What's the matter with you?”

“I woke up at a gas station last night, what do you think is the matter?” He snaps. He picks up his phone impatiently to check for messages.

Nothing.

“You texted Erik, didn't you?”

“No,” He lies reflexively. “Okay. Yes.”

“Jesus, Charles. We’ve talked about this. You can't be with someone who doesn't understand your telepathy.”

“He's different now, I could sense it!”

“You're only seeing what you want to see!” She exclaims, getting off the couch. “Do you remember what he did to you? Because if you don't, I can remind you.” She projects images of Charles moping and laying on the couch, staring blankly into space, and the memories are bleeding and spilling everywhere across the room.

“Raven-” Charles rasps. “Raven! Stop!” The emotion is hurting his throbbing head and he winces, trying to will his headache into submission. The flurry of images is blanketed over with a wave of concern and Raven leans forward into his personal space.

“Charles. I'm sorry.” She winces and squeezes his arm. “I just don't want to see you hurt again.”

Charles sighs heavily, rubbing at his temples. “Too late for that.” He grumbles.

She rolls her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“I know. But with the way things are looking, you'll have nothing to worry about.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the cute comments, kudos and support! They make my day <3 Hope you enjoy the final chapter.

_“Erik,” Charles says, knocking on the closed bedroom door. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude on such a private mem-”_

_The door opens and Erik stands there, tumultuous emotions coming off him in waves. There's anger, there's concern, but the strongest emotion that cuts through it all is fear. Charles swallows his words and his stomach churns. Erik was the one person that was never afraid of his abilities. He trusted Charles with his powers. What changed to make him so fearful?_

_“Why are you afraid of me?” he blurts out, “You know I’d never manipulate you.”_

_Erik’s face hardens. “I thought I told you to stay out of my head.”_

_“I can't just shut it off, Erik. Not when you're feeling so strongly.”_

_Erik glares at him and the sudden stream of hecantknowtellhimtogetoutclosehimoff is cut short with a strong, steel wall. And Charles can still feel fear bleeding through but he can't hear what Erik’s thinking anymore._

_He had always admired Erik’s ability to steady irrational thoughts and impulses, but after that day, he began to loathe it._

_Whenever Charles caught the tail end of some emotion, Erik would slam the wall back down, and think “_ Out, _Charles.” And Charles would feel the prickling sensation of a thousand tiny needles in his skull and have no choice but to stay out of Erik’s head._

 

* * *

 

_After months of sleeping in the same bed without touching, Charles thinks it's time for him to leave._

_“Charles, I told you to pick up some eggs.”_

_“When?”_

_“This morning,” Erik says, tapping his head. “Didn't you hear me?”_

_“Sorry, is this one of the times I'm supposed to be reading your mind?”_

_“What?” Erik asks, eyebrows furrowed._

_"I don't read your mind whenever it's convenient for you,” Charles spits. “I'm either in and always in, or not at all.”_

_There's a spike of fear from Erik, then nothing._

_He's tired of this. Tired of walking on eggshells trying to decipher what Erik wants from him that day. They barely even talk anymore, and when they do, it's about groceries or mentioning they're coming home late, which happens more often than not, now that their relationship was more like roommates than lovers._

_“What happened to us?” he hears himself ask.“All I made was one simple mistake, Erik, and you've been acting like_ I _was the one who killed your parents.”_

 _Erik freezes. Charles hears itsmyfault and imgonnalosehim_ _and a huge cloud of fear before Erik nostrils flare._

_“Fuck you,” Erik snarls. His hands are shaking._

_“Erik,” Charles says softly. “Tell me what's going on,”_

_“You’re lucky you stumbled on a memory you can throw in my face. I_ abandoned _them and let them die.” He inhales sharply._

_“I'm not trying to throw it in your face. It's not your fault,” Charles says._

**_Yes it is._ ** _Erik thinks. It’s loud and piercing in his head and Charles winces._

 _When Erik doesn’t say anything else,_ _Charles sighs. He’s been waiting for Erik to break the ice. To say something, to trust that Charles only sees the best in him and loves him despite his past and tragedies and darkness. But Erik only sees his own pain._

_“I'm not happy,” Charles says. “I don't like where we’re going.”_

_“Do you think I do?” Erik grips the edge of the counter to steady his hands._

_“How do we fix this?”_

_“Who says it can be fixed?”_

_Charles stares at him, opens his mouth and then closes it again. How can he work with someone who is unwilling to try? Who does not even bother to improve? “I'm leaving,” he decides. “I can't do this anymore.”_

_There's a tidal wave of pain emanating off Erik._

_“Fine,” he says. And then there's the quiet feeling of resignation._ **_It's what I deserve._**

 

* * *

Charles falls asleep early that night, completely worn out from the strain of his own emotions and exhaustion. His dreams are a jumbled mess of his own memories and flashes of stone walls and pricking needles. He wakes up around four in the morning and groans, scrabbling for his phone.

Erik’s name blinks on the screen with **1 New Message.**

Charles doesn't think he's ever woken up so quickly before.

The screen blinks brightly with Erik's message:

**Me too.**

Charles’ breath catches in his throat.

_Dinner, then?_

He hits send before he remembers it's 4 a.m. and curses himself.

**It's not a good idea.**

_Why not?_

He sends a second message. 

  _And why are you up so late?_

**I can't get you out of my damn mind.**

The flutter in his heart overcomes the irritation that Erik doesn't answer his first question. He can’t help himself as he types,

_Seems to have always been your problem._

**It's not a problem, Charles. I like having you in my head.**

Charles doesn't want to bring this up, not when things feel safe and decently on sturdy ground but he has to.

_That's not what you said two years ago._

**I know. I wasn't thinking clearly.**

_And you think you are now?_

**Not entirely, but more than before.**

_Why don't you want to get dinner?_

There's no response for five minutes, and Charles can feel his eyes start to slip shut, when the phone lights up again.

**If I see you again, I won't be able to help myself.**

_Who said you had to?_

**I don't deserve a second chance.**

_I think I get to determine that._

**You’re too good to me, Charles. Does dinner Thursday night at 7 work?**

Charles pauses and tries to think if he's free that day. He's surprised that Erik remembers Thursday is the only day he doesn't stay after work to help students with their research. Not much has changed in two years.

“Yes.” he responds. He doesn't wait for Erik’s answer and promptly falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Thursday arrives much slower than he had anticipated. At least his classes are a welcome distraction. It’s the only place where he doesn’t feel so much like a hot, anxious mess. Moira, however, does not give him the luxury of forgetting what happened the week before. She's clearly done feeling guilty because she pesters him with inappropriate videos of him laughing, drunk dancing all over the bar.

“Moira,” he scolds. “Not here. If a student walks in…”

“For God’s sake, Charles,” she says, rolling her eyes. “We’re in the faculty lounge.”

His eyes dart to where one of the older faculty members is sitting, glaring at them through slitted eyes.

“At least give me the pleasure of having one place where my life isn’t a horrible and uncontrollable mess.”

“Speaking of messes, don't you have your date with Erik today?”

Charles rubs a hand on the back of his neck. He can feel the heated stare of the woman next to them, and his ears turn red as he picks up on her piqued interest. “Yes.”

“Okay, so, where are you going?”

Charles squirms uncomfortably in his chair and takes a big bite of his sandwich so he doesn't have to answer. Moira huffs impatiently as he chews as slowly as he possibly can.

“Some place we used to go,” he finally mumbles.

“Are you going to get back with him?” There's concern and caution in her tone and Charles is sick of people _warning_ him about this.

“I don't know, Moira. I know what you're thinking, so please, spare me the lecture about being careful of my feelings.”

 

* * *

 

Charles decides he isn't going to change from his work clothes to see Erik. He isn't going to try to look his best, isn't going to fool himself into thinking this is a date. It's just two old friends ( _Are we even friends? )_ getting a quick bite to eat after work. 

The place is pretty packed, so Charles parks in the way back of the parking lot, knowing the walk will help calm his nerves. 

He examines himself in his car mirror, smooths back a stray piece of hair and takes a deep breath. He can already sense Erik is here, his steady presence drawing him in like a magnet. 

He steps into Fortina, a cozy Italian spot, with wooden walls and low lighting. It's casual enough to feel comfortable, but intimate enough for a date. The corner of his mouth lifts slightly as he remembers how he and Erik used to always sit on the same side of the booth, hands clasped under the table.

 _It’s not a date._ He reminds himself. _I'm just getting the explanation I've been waiting for._

Charles groans. Who is he kidding? Normalizing the situation is doing nothing. He's been waiting for this moment for  _years._

Charles spots Erik at a booth on the left side of the restaurant, his red-brown hair poking over the top of the navy blue cushions. Fondness washes over Charles, easily and dangerously. He takes a moment to collect himself, before he walks to the table. He sits on the opposite side of the booth.

Erik looks positively edible. He’s sitting on the right side, leaning coolly into the back of the cushion. He greets Charles with a slight smile that is both welcoming and seductive. And damn him, if it doesn’t bring back every sexy memory he’s ever had of Erik.

“You look nice,” Charles says. He feels stupid, like he’s on a first date all over again.

Erik smirks at him. “You too.” His eyes rake up and down Charles’ figure and it makes him want to shiver. 

“Have you been waiting long?” Charles asks.

“Only two years,” Erik says. His mouth gives way to a small smile.

Charles laughs. He feels lighter inside, butterflies crawling their way up from his stomach and into his chest. “Me too,” he says quietly.

There are laminated menus laid out on the wooden surface beneath his fingertips, and two water glasses with beads of condensation dripping onto the table. The whole thing feels very familiar, except this time Charles feels like a middle schooler, clumsy and apprehensive, unsure what to say or do with his hands. Things with Erik had always been so easy, but what is there to say to someone who you haven't seen for two years? What is there to say to someone who you never got over and they never got over you?

The waiter interrupts the moment before Charles can say something else. He orders his ravioli and waits for Erik to order his spaghetti Bolognese. Charles takes a sip of water to wet his throat, which feels incredibly dry. Erik drums his fingers against the tabletop.

“I can feel your nerves,” Charles says. “Is there something you want to say?”

Erik half-smiles, staring down at his hands which are stilled, resting on the table. “I never could hide anything from you, could I?”

Charles clears his throat. “Erik, what happened to you last weekend? Why did you shut me out?”

Erik’s face shutters and Charles thinks for a moment that he is going to retreat back into himself, stand up and declare the meeting a mistake. “I was-” He does not look up from his hands. “Afraid.”

Charles can feel himself bristling, just a little. “Afraid of me prying into your thoughts again?”

Erik’s eyes snap up to his and they are blazing. Charles can feel the thoughts rising up like magma, heated guilt bubbling to the surface.

“That morning, I let myself slip,” Erik said. He swallows, projecting the memory.

Charles sees himself standing in the hallway, towel slung around his hips, body flushed from the shower. Only this time, the memory is heavy with emotion. There is the sizzle and heat of lust, the desperate pang of desire, and the consuming feeling of self-loathing. The memory fizzles out and fades away as Erik speaks.

“I hate myself for what I did to you.” Erik says, his voice low. “But you have to understand, I have never feared you or your abilities.”

“Then why did you push me away?” Charles demands.

Erik shut his eyes. “Because I don't deserve you. Not after everything. Not after all this.”

Charles crossed his arms. “Well you certainly thought you deserved something when you took me to bed.”

The guilt emanating off Erik is so strong, it feels like it's choking him. Charles reaches across the table to lace their hands together. “Calm your mind,” he says evenly.

Erik takes a long, slow breath, and the tension eases from his shoulders.

“I couldn't help myself,” he mumbles. “I'm not fucking superhuman, Charles, and when you come out of the shower looking like-” He breaks off. _Like everything I've been dreaming about for years._ The thought finishes in Erik’s head, laced with desire and fondness. “I couldn't resist. I'm sorry.”

Charles pinches his lips together. “Well, I'm not,” he says. “And technically, you _are_ superhuman.”

Erik rolls his eyes. Charles can feel his blood pressure rising a little. He has tried to be patient. To listen and to understand what Erik is feeling. He has given him _a thousand chances_ and Erik owes him an explanation.

“Look,” Charles says icily. “You can beat yourself for all that you have done, but it doesn't do anything. It isn’t closure, Erik. You have to lay it all out on the table. Why are you so afraid of me?”

He takes a deep breath through his nose. “I can’t-” Charles says, his voice cracking. “I can’t spend the rest of my life making up stories about why I lost the best thing to ever happen to me.”

Erik squeezes his hand. “Let me show you, Charles. Come back in.”

Charles swallows hard and focuses his attention to where they’re touching. Where he can feel the calm magnetic buzzing thrumming beneath Erik's veins.

When he opens his eyes again, he feels absolutely paralyzed. He’s inside Erik’s head now, seeing himself through Erik's eyes, that day in the kitchen.

  _How much of it did he see?_ Erik wonders. _Does he know what a monster I am?_  

Charles in the memory stares back at him, eyes misty.

“Erik, you were just a child. You couldn't have saved them,” he says.

Erik wants to scream in horror. The memory that Charles had stumbled on wasn’t any ordinary memory.  It was the moment he grew up and changed forever. It was the moment he realized what he was capable of.  If Charles knew what he had done, he wouldn’t stay. He would run away and find someone better, more whole, and Erik would never be able to handle that rejection.

“Stay out of my fucking head, Charles,” Erik snaps. He leaves before he can see Charles’ face crumple. He can’t bear to watch another person fall to pieces because of his mistakes.

When Charles blinks again, he’s staring at Erik’s face in the middle of the restaurant. Erik’s eyes are wet. The waiter comes over to serve them both their meals. Charles’ throat feels tight. He can’t find the words he wants to say, the questions he wants to ask.

“Why didn’t you tell me what happened?” He asks finally.

“And have you know the truth? That I could have saved them, but I was too selfish to do anything about it?” Erik is no longer looking at him, just staring at their hands clasped across the table.

Charles scoffs. “But pushing me out for months was a better alternative. Right.”

Erik puts up a hand. “Charles, please. Just.” His voice breaks. He touches his temple and shuts his eyes. Charles can feel Erik unraveling, his guilt and exhaustion breaking him down.

“Erik, look at me,” Charles says gently. “I’m on your side.  You don’t have to deal with it all alone anymore.”

 It takes a minute before Erik meets his eyes again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before.”

“I just wish I had known. It would have made much more sense. I spent weeks, months, even, wondering why you were so afraid of me. And it shouldn’t have taken two years for me to understand why we fell apart.”

Erik nods. “I know. You’re right.”

“Now, please, Erik. Can you tell me about your parents? The whole thing? All I know is what I saw from the memory, which was barely anything, and the brief bit you told me years ago,” he says.

“Okay,” Erik says slowly. “But I want you to know, before I start, I haven’t ever stopped loving you. Even the times I pushed you away. You’re it for me.”

Charles swallows. His mouth speaks before he can think. “I love you.”

Erik smiles and rubs his thumb over the back of Charles hand.

“My parents,” he starts, “were taking us on a vacation.”

He tells Charles all about the accident, about the reef that tore a hole in the ship’s side, and that he couldn’t bend it back together. He talks about the overwhelming panic he had felt when the ship listed and capsized and the waves crashed higher and higher as people battled to reach the useable lifeboats.

 “It was a ship made of iron steel. I could feel it, I could feel the hole, but there was nothing I could do. I was too weak. " Erik shakes his head. "We were sliding the width of the boat, just to get to the lifeboats. And when that wave came, my parents were taken from me.”

Erik's voice trembles and he stops for a moment to gain control. “I bent one of the railings so I could hold on, and I let go of my mother’s hand." He swallows hard. "They were gone in an instant."

Erik runs his fingers through his hair. “Jesus, Charles,” he says, “I was so worried about myself, I let go. I let them die.”

Charles leans in, closer to him. “It’s not your fault.”

“If I had just held on-”

“Then you would’ve drowned too.” Charles says.

Erik takes a deep, pained breath and shuts his eyes. “I wasn't thinking rationally.”

“No one would think rationally in that situation.”

Erik turns away from him.  “I wasn't thinking rationally when I shut you out, either.”

Charles is quiet, watching Erik trace his thumb along his knuckles. “I’m here now,” he says. 

“When I was in Philly, I had to keep stopping myself from picking up the phone and calling you. I just kept thinking over and over that I was protecting you from myself. But it hurt worse. To be alone.” He pauses to collect his thoughts. “And when I finally moved back because I wanted to fix things I-” He shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. I was too ashamed of what I had done to you.”

He smiles. “And then you had to get completely smashed and practically throw yourself at me.”

“If I remember correctly, _you_ were the one that threw yourself at me,” Charles says. “ _And_ you were sober.”

Erik laughs. “You’re right.”

Charles sighs heavily and leans his head back against the booth. “I’m glad I understand now, but God, I wish I had known two years ago. I was wondering all this time.”

Erik frowns. “I am so sorry, Charles. You deserve so much better than I can give you.”

Charles swallows and leans in. “Too bad you’re the only one I want.”

Erik's expression shifts and becomes softer. He lifts his hand to cup Charles' face, to trace his thumb over Charles' cheekbone.  “I’m surprised you didn’t end up with Moira."

Charles laughs. “Moira, Erik? Really? I love her, but she’s the reason why I ended up at the gas station.”

Erik brings Charles’ hand to his lips. “I better thank her, then.”

When they finally get around to eating their food, it’s cold and Charles doesn’t quite know what time it is.  He doesn’t mind it, though, he’d spend hours staring across the table like this, the quiet and mutual understanding settling between them like a soft blanket of snow.

He feels so much better now. Now that he knows.

 

* * *

 

It's pouring when they finally make it out of the restaurant. Charles groans.

“Where’s your car?” Erik asks.

“In the last bloody spot.”

Erik laughs and holds up an umbrella he opens with a click. “Come on, then. Wouldn’t want your precious tweed to be ruined.” Erik pulls him out into the rain, his black umbrella shielding them from the downpour.

When they reach Charles’ car, Erik closes the umbrella.

“What are you doi-” He stops talking when Erik bends over to cup his face in his hands.

“You’re beautiful,” Erik murmurs.

“Erik, please.” He blushes.

Erik looks perfect in this light, his blue-green eyes gleaming against the backdrop of a grey, washed out sky. His hair is hanging in wet slicks against his forehead, dripping onto his face.

The rain is soaking through Charles' clothes and tickling his hair and dripping cold down the back of his neck. He shivers.

He wants to get away from the rain, but he doesn’t get the chance, because Erik is slotting their mouths together and kissing him in the way he remembers, in the way that can pick him apart.

It’s a good kiss. An amazing kiss, actually, considering how cold and unfeeling Erik had been the last time, and how many years they've been avoiding this.

But Charles has to say one more thing, so he breaks the moment to rest his forehead against Erik’s.

“We still have some stuff to sort out,” Charles says.

“Of course.” Erik tears his gaze from Charles’ lips. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No, we will. Just.” He rests his hand on Erik’s. “Just not now.”

“Okay,” Erik agrees. “Later.”

Charles closes the distance and brings their lips back together, kissing him deeper, parting his lips to let Erik's tongue in. 

Erik growls and pushes him back against his car. And oh, how he’s missed this. The rain is slick and bleeding through his clothes, but he barely registers it, holding Erik around his waist and rubbing his thumbs into the smooth skin beneath his shirt.

“Charles,” Erik rasps.

“Yeah?” Charles croaks out.

“Do you want to get out of here?”

“Why, I thought you’d never ask.”

 

* * *

 

There’s nothing soft about the way that Erik kisses him once they get back into his apartment. They're soaked to the bone, dripping rain from their eyelashes and squeaking in their shoes. Charles wants to get out of his clothes as soon as possible. He's glad that's where they're headed anyway.

Erik pulls him into the bedroom, where this whole mess started, and yanks on Charles’ sopping tweed jacket and undoing his button-up. It's already too good, the feeling of Erik’s warm body pressing in and around him, peeling away the sticky layers of clothes.

Charles slides his fingers through Erik’s damp hair, and Erik inhales sharply, and moves Charles impossibly closer.

It’s possessive and urgent, and it’s all Charles can do to not _lose_ himself. This is really happening.  It’s been two years, two fucking years, since he had felt Erik like this, in and out of his mind, yearning for him.

He can’t seem to hold Erik close enough, and Erik seems to feel the same, based on the way he slides his fingers down Charles’ bare torso, how he walks him back slowly, presses him down on the bed.

“Erik,” Charles croaks out, “Take off your clothes.” He uselessly fiddles with Erik’s belt, his fingers trembling from anticipation.

Erik lifts his hand and his belt comes off of him, along with his pants, shirt and shoes, but he leaves his boxers still on.

Charles is sprawled out half-naked on the bed, waiting, his eyes locked to Erik’s. Erik's looking at him with eyes darkened with lust, with a desire so strong that Charles is nearly beside himself with _want._

Erik gets into bed then, hovering over Charles, and staring at his face, tracing his cheekbones with his thumbs. Erik speaks to him without moving his lips. _You’re impossibly beautiful. Those blue eyes, those lips- fuck, Charles. Can’t believe you’re in my bed right now. You're too good for me._

“I am exactly where I am supposed to be,” Charles answers. He tangles his fingers in Erik’s hair and brings their lips together, deeper, in a hungry kiss.

Erik dips down to kiss his neck, breath hot. Charles is lost in it, in the way their bodies fit so perfectly together. He’s grinding up against Erik, can feel the hard line of his cock pressing against him when their hips roll just right.  

“Fuck,” Charles hisses. He’s almost dizzy with how much he wants this. “Take these off,” Charles hooks his fingers into the waistband of Erik’s boxers and tries to yank them down his legs.

“If I do that, I’ll have to take my hands off of you,” Erik says, pressing another wet kiss to his collarbone. “And I don’t want to do that.”

Charles growls. “Jesus Christ, Erik, If I have to wait any longer for you to fuck me, I might go insane.”

“You want to?”

It’s a stupid question, based on the way Charles is practically coming undone under Erik’s lips and hands and the friction between their hips. But he thinks Erik needs to hear it anyway. “I’ve never wanted anything more,” he whispers.

Erik surges forward and captures Charles’ lips in a kiss. His hand reaches down to grip Charles in his boxers, palming him, and Charles bucks up into the touch. He is breathless, his heart hammering in his chest a thousand beats per second, amazed he can finally have all this.

“I want to taste you,” Erik says. He presses a kiss to Charles’ jaw, “I want to be inside of you,” he kisses his neck.  “I want to fuck you,” he kisses his collarbone. “And I want to make you come undone,” he kisses down his bare chest. His hands reach the waistband of Charles’ boxers, and he pulls them down, up and over his knees.

Charles feels weak all the way down to his toes. His cock stiff and hard, already leaking. “Yes, Erik,” he whines, “ _Please.”_

Erik lowers his mouth down around Charles, breathing harshly through his nose, enveloping his cock in the hot, warm heat. 

Charles gasps and unconsciously bucks upwards, his breathing choppy. His fantasies of getting back with Erik come nowhere close to this. It’s only takes a few minutes before he’s embarrassingly close to the edge, and he doesn’t want to come like this, not without Erik actually fucking him first. “Erik, your mouth is incredible,” he whispers, “but if you don’t stop, things are going to end a lot faster than I want.”

Erik pulls off of him and comes back up, their shoulders pressing together. “And I thought you _wanted_ things to move faster,” he says, his voice scratchy.

“Yeah,” Charles moves his hand over the tent in Erik’s boxers. “Once you’re inside of me.”

Erik inhales sharply as Charles palms him. He’s thinking about how he’s going to open Charles up and the sounds he’s going to make when he comes. The images make Charles groan, and Erik takes the moment to pull Charles hand away so he can free himself from his own boxers.

He’s just as hard as Charles and aching for it, based on the way his hands drag down Charles’ body, the way he slides their lips together.

Erik opens the drawer to his bedside table and rummages around to find some lube and a condom.

“Haven’t done this in awhile,” Charles admits. “It might take me a bit.” He's had various one night stands in attempt to get over Erik, but nothing compared to this. And Erik was, well, bigger than the others, and-

“Don’t worry,” Erik whispers, “Me neither.” He kisses Charles’ stomach and pushes his legs apart. Charles braces himself for the first finger, closing his eyes as Erik pushes in, and tries to relax as Erik works into him. He fits in a second, pressing wet kisses to Charles thighs, distracting him from the discomfort.

By the time Erik fits in the third, he can't stand it, he's squirming every time Erik’s fingers brush over his prostate.

“Erik,” he breathes out, “Please, I’m ready, just _please.”_

Erik nods. He eases out his fingers and rolls on a condom, lining himself up, and slowly pressing into Charles.

“Fuck,” Charles says, eyes shut. He can feel Erik breathing hot on his neck, on his chest.

“You alright?” Erik asks. His voice sounds gruff, his movements slow and controlled.

“Yes, I’m-” Charles gasps, as Erik pushes all the way in. “I’m fine.”

Erik wraps his hand around Charles’ cock, jerking him slowly.  Using the slick gathered there to get him off. Charles leans back into the pillow, cheeks stained pink.

“Fuck, Charles, you feel amazing. I’ve wanted to do this for so long.”

Charles groans. The feeling of pain is starting to transform into pleasure, radiating throughout his entire body. Charles leans in and kisses him, hands gripping at Erik’s ass as he moves in and out of him. Erik is hitting all the right spots inside him, making him whine high in the back of his throat. Erik whispers in his ear about how sexy he looks, coming apart like this, and how good it feels to be inside of him.

He’s close, so close, and Erik knows, pushing deeper inside of him, faster, as he hits his prostate, over and over again.

“God,” he hears Erik gasp. “Fuck, I’m close, Charles,” He presses kisses to Charles’ sweaty collarbone and neck.

Charles is panting now, eyes squeezed shut. There’s a fire starting to spread in his abdomen as Erik relentlessly slams in to him, and Erik meets his eyes, looks deep into them and murmurs, “I am so fucking lucky.” And that’s enough to send Charles over the edge, whimpering out Erik’s name.

Erik groans and thrusts twice more before he comes, too, Charles clenching down around him, Erik burying his face in the crook of Charles’ neck.

Charles is so spent and sore, he barely moves when Erik pulls out of him and rolls over. Instead, he reaches out to find Erik’s arm and sidles up beside him, resting his face in the warmth of Erik’s chest. He feels stupidly happy as they rest in silence, catching their breath together.

Erik presses a kiss to Charles’ hair, Charles closes his eyes, and promptly falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

Charles wakes up somewhere around three in the morning, body pleasantly sore, Erik sound asleep next to him. Charles nestles closer, hoping Erik will wake up, but he doesn't move. So Charles sits up, and yanks the blankets off. It's too hot beneath the sheets anyway.

Erik stirs, slowly opening one eye and then the other. “What are you doing.”

“It's too hot.”

“So you had to wake me up.”

Charles nods. “Yes. I have work tomorrow.”

“And?”

“And I have to get a change of clothes.”

Erik groans. “Just call in sick.”

“I can't do that, Erik, I have students relying on me.”

Erik sighs, knowing he can't fight Charles when his students are involved. “Fine. We’ll get your clothes in the morning. Come back to bed.”

“I'm not tired.”

“Well, _I’m_ tired.”

“Since when did you become such an old man?”

Erik smiles sleepily and loops an arm around Charles, pulling him backwards to lay down on the bed.“I'm not old,” Erik insists. “I just want you in my arms again.”

Charles can't argue with that logic. Erik pulls Charles into him, turning to the side to hold him against his chest.

Charles closes his eyes and listens to the quiet, even sound of Erik’s breathing.

 

* * *

 

When Charles wakes up alone, he tries not to panic. Erik really has to stop doing this to him if they're going to continue whatever this is.

He rubs his eyes and checks the time on his phone. It's 8 am, which means he has _absolutely no time_ to go home and get a change of clothes before his 8:30 class.

He sighs heavily, just as Erik walks into the room.

“Why didn't you wake me up?” Charles asks. “I slept in an hour later than I was supposed to.”

“I thought you said weren't tired.”

“Very funny, Erik, but this isn't time for jokes. I have to wear the same soaking wet clothes as yesterday. I'm going to smell like a-” He's interrupted as Erik hands him a pile of clean clothes. _His_ clean clothes. He sits up in the bed.“Where did you get this?”

“I stopped by your place this morning. Had a little chat with Raven.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. “Why the _hell_ would you do that?”

“Because,” Erik says, “I want her to know I'm serious about this.”

Charles scoffs. “So you asked for her permission? To what, date me?”

Erik’s eyes twinkle. “Yes.”

“Without asking me if I even _want_ to date you again?”

Erik faces falters. “I-” He meets Charles’ eyes. “Do you want to?”

It's a ridiculous question, really. Charles has been pining for him for years, even after everything that's happened. Waking up alone, reminding himself that Erik was gone and one day he'd find someone better. Falling into a stranger’s arms, remembering there _was_ no one better.

He takes the pile of clothes from Erik’s hands and sets them on the bed. He gets on his knees so he can wrap his arms around Erik’s neck and pull him into a slow, sweet kiss.

“You're insane if you don't think I want to.”

Erik smiles, the joy flooding over his features and Charles’ mind like sunlight. Erik draws him in, close to his chest, and holds him there. 

He has to go soon - get up for work so his students don't become overly curious about his personal life. But for now, he has this one moment stretching out before him,  Erik’s arms around him, holding him with a sincere promise of what's to come.

He's been waiting two years, after all.

  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
